A Wicked Magic
by California gal
Summary: In which our explorers enter a mystical village ruled by an evil queen...


Marguerite lifted the book higher toward her face. Not that she needed the closeness to read the words; her vision was perfect. Holding the book closer seemed as though it would shield some of the noise that was emanating from below the tree house balcony where she was sitting. If laughter could be called "noise."

She had been invited to participate, as usual. And–as usual–she had disdained joining in such a silly frolic. How could anyone consider tossing a plastic disk around fun? The item left behind by those travelers from the future a couple of months ago had become a favorite toy of Veronica and Malone, but sometimes, as today, even Roxton and Challenger joined in. Summerlee was not tossing the disk, she knew, but she could hear his encouraging words and laughter.

"Good exercise," was what Challenger pronounced it. As if they did not get enough exercise merely surviving! Foraging for food, maintaining some semblance of order and cleanliness in their abode, constantly on the alert for predators and human and nonhuman enemies, searching for an escape from this damnable plateau–that was all the exercise Marguerite Krux needed. 

Veronica's high-pitched shriek of surprise–probably as the disk soared over her head, or into her face–elicited roars of laughter from the male voices, and then hers was joining them. Marguerite resisted peeking over the edge to see what had occurred. She also resisted retreating indoors, where the sounds might be muffled somewhat, if not entirely. Retreat was not in Marguerite's dictionary. She was pretty certain her chair could not be seen from where the frolickers were–they would have to go out much further to get an angle–but she did not want any of them to think that their actions disturbed her at all. Twice someone–Veronica and then Summerlee–had called to her from down there already, urging her participation. If she went inside she might not hear when they called again, and they would know she had been driven away.

Marguerite tried to concentrate on the pages in front of her eyes. The words meant nothing. She had read this particular book previously some time ago, back in England, but had found it among the effects of Veronica's mother and decided to peruse it again. However, she had chosen the wrong morning, obviously. How could anyone concentrate on a book with that cacophony

Abruptly, Marguerite became aware of the silence. Not complete silence, of course. Total hush was virtually impossible in these surroundings. The breeze rustled leaves, animals and birds called to each other, insects buzzed. But the voices of her companions had stilled.

She lowered the book slightly and listened, expecting to hear the whir of the elevator's mechanism indicating the others were coming upstairs. Nothing. Frowning, Marguerite fought the urge to rise from her chair and go peek over the side. That was probably exactly what they wanted. She would look down and they would burst out from cover, laughing riotously that they had "got her." No indeed. She would wait them out.

The seconds, the minutes crept by, and the silence continued. Marguerite gave up the pose of reading and put the book aside, but remained in her chair, tensely listening for some sound–a whisper, a titter–anything. If she waited long enough, the tables might turn. They might become concerned about her health and safety.

Marguerite did not have a watch or clock nearby, but she was certain at least ten minutes elapsed, and she could bear it no longer. Rising from the chair, she carefully moved to the railing and looked down. No one was in sight.

"Roxton!" The name leapt from her lips almost unbidden. Nothing moved, no sound came. "Veronica!"

Marguerite then saw the rifle. Roxton's powerful weapon leaned against a stump where he had placed it to have ready in case something or someone got through the perimeter fence–which even Challenger admitted was not "perfect" yet. Malone's rifle and Challenger's shotgun were resting just where they had left them–and Roxton's familiar hat lay on the ground just at the edge of the clearing.

For a long instant, Marguerite stood frozen, completely uncomprehending. Why would any of them leave the clearing without their weapons? _They would not_. With a strangled cry, Marguerite left the balcony, hastened through the tree house, pausing only to grab her own rifle and the belt that secured her pistol to her waist, and leapt into the elevator.

An eternity seemed to elapse before the ingenious mechanism lowered her to the ground. Cautious, Marguerite remained inside the small cage for a long moment, peering out. The possibility of a practical joke still existed, and just now, she would not mind being made a fool of. The eerie quiet and a sense deep within her soul informed her this was not a prank. Something had happened.

Carefully she stepped out onto the ground, rifle at the ready. She circled the perimeter of the clearing and fought against the panic that began to thunder in her ears. Over the last year and a half she had followed behind Roxton or Veronica as they pursued a trail, and she had picked up on some of their methods. The little she had learned served her in good stead right now, as well as increased her alarm.

She saw the marks that her friends had made as they tossed the disk around–Roxton's heavy boots, the slightly lighter ones of Malone and Challenger, the latter with a nick in the left heel, and Veronica's soft soles. She also saw strange scuff marks and flattened grass, as though something heavy had fallen on it. Last, and most ominously, Marguerite saw other footprints.

Strangely, these other prints were very light, almost as if the owners of the feet were not quite putting all their weight on the ground. She noticed, however, that some of these became more indented–as though carrying heavy loads, some more weighty than others, as they headed off into the thick forest's growth.

Marguerite went to the forest's edge and stopped, listening for sounds that would indicate anyone was near. The pounding of her heart did not help much, and she took deep breaths in an attempt to calm that organ, without much success. Fear seemed to be transforming her blood into ice water in her veins, and she shivered. She was alone. Completely alone.

****

Veronica opened her eyes and stared into the dimness, conscious of the fuzziness of both her vision and her brain. Something was not right. She was on her back, but it was not the mattress of her bed under her shoulders. Nor was that ceiling above part of the tree house.

"Are you all right?"

The gentle, familiar voice caused her to turn her head slightly and she looked into Ned Malone's concerned countenance. When she tried to rise, he caught her shoulder and assisted her into a sitting position. "What's going on?" she asked, staring around her.

Summerlee was leaning against a nearby wall, a wall that appeared to be constructed of rough stone. The room was about ten feet square, and the unfinished ceiling, perhaps a little taller than ten feet high, was supported by thick wooden beams, with two small windows at the very top on opposite sides affording the faint light. A solid-appearing door occupied one wall–a very closed door. She saw George Challenger stretched on his stomach near her feet.

"We're not sure," Malone replied to her query. "We just woke up here. What do you remember last?"

Veronica shook her head slightly. The cobwebs were melting. "Just suddenly feeling very tired. Then–nothing."

"That's what we experienced," Summerlee said. "And Ned and I have a very odd sense of déjà vu about it."

"What did you say?" Veronica asked, not sure she comprehended the words.

"Déjà vu. A sense that one has lived a certain incident previously."

"It felt like the time the woman who called herself a faery knocked us out with some kind of dust," Ned said. "I think we told you about it–the old woman who had the radio headphones."

"Oh–yes. I think so. Is Challenger all right?"

"Just sleeping," Summerlee replied. "He should rouse soon. Ned and I were speculating that we awakened first because we perhaps had developed some sort of an immunity because of our prior experience."

"Where's Roxton!" Veronica suddenly realized that one of them was absent.

Malone shook his head. "We don't know. We haven't heard or seen anything."

"No Marguerite either," Summerlee put in. "We have no idea if they–whoever they might be–captured her as well."

Challenger muttered something and rolled over onto his back. Malone moved to assist him, and the explanations were given again. "Perhaps it explains my hallucination," Challenger grumbled as he moved to sit against the wall alongside Summerlee.

"What was that?" Malone asked.

"Just before we passed out, I thought I saw several creatures–people–floating several feet above the ground."

Summerlee shook his head. "I suffered no such visions. You?" He looked at the younger pair, who both shook their heads.

At that moment the door jerked open, throwing almost blinding sunlight into their faces, so that when it closed again, moments were needed to adjust their visions. Veronica cried out first. "Roxton! Are you all right?"

"What?" He stood against the door, frowning and looking about him in total confusion. "Where is she?"

"We don't know if Marguerite was taken," Malone said, getting to his feet to step to the taller man and grasp his arm, for it seemed as though Roxton was swaying on his feet.

"Who?" John Roxton asked, peering at Malone. "Who are you?"

****

Marguerite trudged along, clasping the large rifle with both hands before her, eyes on the ground ahead, but also attempting to keep alert for any dangers that might appear from either side, which was often the case in this hellish world. The pack on her back was heavy because she had hastily jammed in food supplies as well as ammunition for her pistol and Roxton's rifle. Perhaps it would have been smarter to carry her own, lighter caliber weapon, but somehow she felt more secure with the more powerful gun; a sense of security that had nothing to do with its owner, she was certain.

The trail was not too difficult to discern, even though the prints in the soil were not as deep and apparent as they might have been for such a large band, particularly burdened as they were. Though not an experienced tracker, this troubled Marguerite. How could they leave such faint marks in the softest soils? How could they be moving so swiftly while carrying full-grown humans? And were those humans alive or dead?

Marguerite was certain she was not pursuing cannibals or headhunters. She had seen tracks from those tribes too often. These footprints were of shoes or soft-soled boots, not bare feet. Unlike Veronica or Roxton, she could not ascertain just how far ahead of her the band was. It could not be too far, since she had departed the tree house within a half hour of noticing the disappearance of her comrades, which would make it probably no more than forty-five minutes. Plus, she was traveling comparatively light.

Perplexing to the utmost was how the five adults had been spirited away literally from under her nose. She should have heard sounds. Something other-worldly hovered over this incident. Considering all they had encountered here on this plateau over the months, nothing was beyond her belief. For all she knew, she was pursuing ghosts.

She was frightened. Panic threatened to overcome her time after time, and only sheer willpower had prevented her from flying into hysteria upon the realization that she was alone at the tree house. She had to find the others. They had to be alive. They could not abandon her. He had promised to always be there.

Marguerite glanced up toward the sky and the lowering sun. Within about two hours, darkness would fall. She did not want to be here in the jungle alone at night. But what choice had she? Even if she caught up with the kidnappers who had her friends, she was certain they numbered at least a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty. Presumably they were men. Even with superior weaponry on her sides, the odds were not good.

Suddenly she heard unfamiliar sounds, and stopped, cocking her head to listen. Voices! Somewhere up ahead were voices, some in laughter, even perhaps singing. A village? Now was the time for extreme caution. If Roxton and the others had been taken into a village, the odds could increase to hundreds to one. Then what could she do?

****

Nothing they could say seemed to make any difference. The man they knew as Lord John Roxton simply did not know them, and did not recognize his own name. He even seemed to be frightened of them, standing with his back against the wall and watching them warily.

Summerlee tried a different tactic. "When you were outside this building, what did you see?"

The tall man frowned. "Why, the people."

"What people?"

"Her people. My friends."

Challenger moved up closer and spoke gently. "Her people? Of whom do you speak?" He avoided addressing his friend by name, as that had seemed to upset Roxton earlier.

The expression on the handsome face grew rapturous. "My beautiful queen."

"Why are you in here with us?" Malone inquired.

"I'm–I don't know. She said–" He put his hand over his eyes for a moment, as if concentrating. "She said I should speak to you and–I can't remember it all."

Challenger touched Summerlee's arm and they retreated to the far side of the small room. "Is he drugged?" He spoke very softly.

Summerlee shook his head. "I don't know. His eyes look fairly normal, if confused. It might be mesmerism. If so, it's a very powerful spell. He absolutely does not know us, nor his own name."

"Couldn't be amnesia? From a blow on the head, say?"

"Well, that's possible. But I'd have to examine him, and I don't believe he is going to allow me to–" His words were cut off as the door, as it had previously, suddenly opened.

"Come out," a voice ordered, a reedy male voice.

Blinded by the afternoon sunlight, Veronica, Malone, Challenger, and Summerlee followed Roxton through the door. They found themselves in the midst of a number of stone huts, and about a hundred or so people, men and women and a few young children–perhaps the strangest group of people they had yet encountered.

Veronica could hardly keep from staring. They were all slim, handsome people with fair hair, clad in silken garments in various pastel shades that flowed around their bodies as if stirred by a constant breeze though the air was still. And as the people moved about, they seemed to almost skate across the surface of the ground, their softly clad feet barely touching the soil. No one appeared to be carrying a weapon. The expressions on their faces were guarded, as if they were avoiding displaying any interest, fearful or glad, in the newcomers. She could almost guess their presence in this circle was not of their own volition.

One man, very thin and with silvery white hair that flowed over the shoulders of his pale green tunic, stepped forward. "Welcome." He did not smile.

"Thank you," George Challenger replied levelly, biting back the angry questions he wanted to ask. "May we ask where we are?"

"This is Livornia, the home of the forest people."

"Where is my queen?" Roxton suddenly asked in a taut voice. His fists were clenched at his side, and Veronica thought, with astonishment, that he appeared terrified and lost.

A thin-faced woman with a tinge of red in her graying hair and a peach-colored gown swirling about her bony body emerged through the surrounding crowd and came up to Roxton. She put her hand on his arm. "It is all right. She is coming."

Veronica watched Roxton smile, and somehow the expression on his face frightened her. It was an adoring, almost fawning smile. Lord John Roxton was not the fawning sort.

"I would like to know how we came to be here," Challenger spoke evenly, "And why?"

The man bowed his head. "That is not for me to explain. I can say that a mistake was made."

"A mistake?" Summerlee echoed. "Does that mean we are free to leave?"

"Not yet," a woman's imperious voice pronounced. The people were moving aside quickly and silently, heads lowered, and the female passed through them.

Veronica stared at her, blinking a couple of times. Why was it so difficult to see her? No, now it was all right. But for a moment. The woman was taller than any of the others, her hair a deep red, flowing down over her shoulders like shimmering wine, face perfectly formed and beautiful with sensuous lips and large deep green eyes. Her emerald green gown formed over a splendid body, not nearly so waif-like as the other women in the crowd. Her age was indeterminate. Was she twenty or fifty?

Veronica's attention was drawn away from the woman, as she saw John Roxton fall to his knees, arms outstretched. "My queen," he purred, complete bliss on his handsome face.

The woman approached, and took both of his hands within hers, smiling down at him for a moment. Then she looked at the others. "I am Dracaena, Queen of Livornia. Welcome." Her voice was liquid silk.

"Thank you, madam," Challenger replied evenly, though shaken by the slavish behavior of the great hunter. "I hope you can explain why we have been brought here, and when we can leave."

"In time," Dracaena replied. "For now, you will be our guests. Titus!" She addressed the silver-haired man. "Make our guests comfortable."

Challenger glanced at his friends. They were as baffled as he was, he knew; he also saw that they all agreed with him. They would not attempt to make an escape until they knew just what was happening, and what was wrong with Roxton. They followed Titus, and when Challenger glanced back, he saw Roxton following the queen, his face glowing with adulation.

They were taken to two adjoining stone buildings, Veronica to one, the three men to the other. Titus declined to answer any questions, and the sorrow on his countenance caused them to stop querying him. He was both frightened and sad, they saw. The imperious queen certainly held the power here, and held it strongly.

Veronica came to the men's quarters almost immediately. The rooms were comfortably fitted with beds and chairs, and a small table held fruit and wine, which Summerlee sniffed, then tasted gingerly and pronounced safe. Then he turned to Malone.

"Did you see her, Ned?"

Malone looked up from the peach-like fruit he was peeling. "Who? The queen? Quite a female, I'd say."

"No, I mean the girl. The nymph."

"What in the devil are you talking about?" Challenger demanded, pouring himself a glass of wine from the silver flagon.

"Ned, you remember the old woman who wanted a drop of your blood."

"How could I forget it," Malone grimaced. He had been forced to be suspended upside down while the crazy old bat pricked his finger to draw his blood so that supposedly she could reverse a wicked spell. "But what does that have to do with this place?"

"When we were leaving that place, after we lost our chance to obtain the radio, I thought I saw someone. You and Marguerite said it was nothing, so I decided I imagined it. But she's out there now. I saw her. A girl in a blue dress with long blonde hair."

The other four stared at him. "Are you saying these people are faeries?" Veronica asked?

"I don't know. All I know is that I saw that girl dancing in the forest, then evanescing into nothing, laughing with delight as she transformed from mortal to–to whatever. And she is out there among the people of Livornia."

"It is very strange," Veronica mused. "They seem to–well, not quite walk on the ground."

"But they don't have wings," Ned put in dryly.

"There are all sorts of faeries," Summerlee explained patiently. "Nymphs, sprites, leprechauns, banshees–not all have wings."

"You speak as though you believe in them!" Challenger stared at the older man.

Arthur Summerlee smiled softly. "My dear Anna certainly did. She always claimed she saw one as a girl."

"Well, don't forget where we are," Malone told them flatly. "If faeries and leprechauns do exist anywhere on the earth, this would be the place."

"There's one more thing," Summerlee add, his round face growing more serious. "The woman, the queen. Her name, Dracaena, is the scientific name of a plant–a plant commonly known as Dragon's Blood."

"And what has she done to Roxton?" Veronica wanted to know. "He's–he's–"

"Besotted," Malone filled in the word.

"It was the oddest thing," Veronica said slowly. "When she first appeared, I had trouble seeing her."

"Me too!" Ned cried. "I thought it was because of the bright sunlight. We"

"Something's happening," Challenger said, going toward the door. They could hear some shouting among the people.

****

Marguerite strode into the village, gripping the rifle, her chin high, eyes straight ahead. She had watched the village for about an hour from a hidden spot, and finally decided that her only recourse was boldness. The inhabitants appeared to be completely unarmed.

From her vantage point she had been able to see that for a short while most of the villagers gathered at one spot, but she could not clearly see why or what was occurring before they dispersed, her view blocked by a large stone building, and she had been fearful of changing her position and risking the danger of being spotted. Every structure in the village seemed to be old and constructed of stone with thatched roofs. She did, however, glimpse a tall man with dark hair walking away at that point. If Roxton was free, perhaps this was all some sort of misunderstanding. In any case, she was going to be ready for anything.

A young girl with long silvery blonde hair and clad in a pale blue shimmering dress appeared to literally fly toward her, feet seeming to barely touch the ground. The girl's eyes were wide with alarm. "You must not be here! Run! Please! Run!"

Marguerite stared at the girl. Something was familiar about her. "Where are my friends?" she demanded.

Instead of replying, the girl turned and ran. Marguerite watched her a moment, then looked around. People were staring at her almost in fear. Strangest appearing people she had ever seen. Not ugly or anything, but all too beautiful–similar but not like the population they had encountered in that eerie place known as Paradise, where the people kept their youth and serenity by consuming the fruit of a deadly tree, at the cost of human lives. These persons seemed to possess a glowing aura about their bodies, and their movements were liquid, flowing over the rough earth. 

A murmur had been evident as the people talked to each other, but it suddenly ceased. Marguerite turned when a movement caught her attention, and she saw a woman emerge from the largest building visible. An ugly woman with a crooked nose, scars and warts on her face, graying red hair straggling over her bony shoulders, a green silk gown sagging over her skeletal body. A few feet behind her walked Lord John Roxton, his eyes fastened on the woman.

"Well, well. So you have come after all." The voice was like a creaking gate.

"Who are you?" Marguerite demanded. "John, are you all right? Where are the others?"

The man moved his gaze to her momentarily, without expression, and turned back to the old woman, who smiled without looking around, as though she knew just what had occurred.

"I am Dracaena," the old crone said, "Queen of Livornia. You are welcome in our village, Marguerite."

Marguerite was about to demand how the woman knew her name, but decided Roxton or one of the others must have mentioned her. She clutched the rifle, still unsure of her safety here. She did not like the way the so-called queen's eyes gazed on her, and she liked less the expression on Roxton's face.

"Where are my friends?"

"We're here," Challenger called, striding through the crowd that had gathered. "We're all okay."

"What the hell happened?"

"That's a good question. Madame Queen, may our friend join us? I'm sure she is weary after a long trek."

"Of course. I would not have it any other way. Be comfortable, Marguerite. We will talk later." She turned, placing her hand on Roxton's arm. The man beamed down at her and escorted her back into the large building.

Marguerite stared after him, her mouth open in amazement. Only when Challenger touched her arm did she recover and follow him. Inside the men's quarters, she took a glass of wine and sat on one of the beds. "Now will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here? Why is Roxton hanging onto that hag like a lovesick puppy."

The others glanced at each other, but did not comment at the moment. Marguerite did not often display jealousy, but perhaps her weariness and relief at finding them was affecting her. Challenger explained how they had been enjoying their afternoon's recreation when suddenly a mist seemed to envelope them, and they fell unconscious.

"Very much," Summerlee added, "like what happened to you and I and Ned that night when we were seeking the woman with the radiophones. The woman who claimed she was a faery."

"Yeah, right." Marguerite sipped her wine, and remembered the odd way the people she had seen moved–floated–over the ground and the misty glowing aura that appeared to surround them.

"In any case, we awakened here. Or rather in another building that is apparently the village jailhouse."

"Four of us anyway," Veronica put in. She looked at Marguerite. "Roxton came later. He doesn't know us."

"Doesn't know–! What are you talking about?"

"Some sort of amnesia it seems," Summerlee explained. "He didn't know us, didn't know his own name, and indeed, seemed very nervous about being with us."

Marguerite thought of what she had seen of the explorer moments ago. "Do you suppose that ugly old woman has convinced him she's his mother or something?"

"Marguerite," Challenger said thoughtfully. "Why do you keep referring to Dracaena as ugly?"

"She is! Warts, scars and all!"

"Warts! What are you talking about? She's a beautiful woman with milky skin!" Malone protested.

Marguerite's brows lifted. "If that's your idea of beautiful, well"

A sound interrupted her words, a tapping at the door, soft and surreptitious. Veronica was nearest, and with a look at the others, she stepped over and opened it. The same girl in a blue dress and flowing silvery blonde tresses who had accosted Marguerite slipped inside. "I am sorry!" she cried. Tears filled her blue eyes and flowed like rivers over her creamy cheeks. "I am so sorry!"

"My dear girl," Summerlee moved to her side, taking her hand. "It's all right. Come and tell us all about it. You are the old woman who drew Malone's blood, aren't you?"

She nodded, sniffling, as he led her to a chair. "My name is Rosea. I had been put under a spell by our queen because I fell in love with the human she desired, and he loved me. Because I was able to break the spell, I was allowed to return to the village. I was so happy. My loved one is long gone, but I was back with my family. I told everyone about how I broke the curse, and the humans who helped me–including the chosen one." She gazed directly at Marguerite.

"I remember!" Malone cried. "That's what you said that night. You said Marguerite was a chosen one.' I had no idea what you meant. And I still don't."

"She's nuts," Marguerite complained, unnerved.

Rosea gazed at Marguerite, eyes widening slightly. "You are unaware?"

"I haven't the faintest notion of what you are talking about," Marguerite snapped back.

"What do you mean by chosen one'?" Summerlee inquired gently.

Rosea nervously twisted her fingers together. "I had better leave. When the moon is high, someone will come for you. Grandmama can explain better." And before anyone could speak or move, she literally flew toward the door, her feet touching the floor only an instant as she pushed on the latch, and then was gone.

"Good Lord!" Summerlee ejaculated. 

"I'm beginning to think you are right," Ned Malone said in awe, staring at the closed door. "Faeries."

"When I came into the village," Marguerite said slowly, as to herself, "That old woman–the queen–said something like, so you've come after all. As though they were expecting me. Did you tell them–?" She looked around at them. All were shaking their heads.

"We hardly had time to tell anyone anything," Veronica said. "We were in the prison, taken out briefly to meet the queen, and then brought here. But what Rosea said, about you being a chosen one, and how she was so sorry she had revealed that information–what does it mean?"

"I think we are going to have to wait to speak to grandmama," Challenger replied, rubbing his bearded chin. "I for one am looking forward to that conversation."

****

Marguerite felt as though she had just dozed off when the light tap on the door roused her and Veronica, who carefully opened the door. A boy who appeared to be about twelve years old poked his head in. "Come quickly. Come silently."

When they stepped outside they found Challenger, Malone, and Summerlee waiting. The quarter moon was high and bright, shedding a faint silvery glow over the village, which was very quiet, with all the inhabitants in their abodes. The youth motioned to them after first placing a finger over his lips. He glided before them, and they did their best to keep their own movements silent, carefully watching the ground for twigs or rocks that might make noises under their heavier bodies.

He led them toward the outskirts of the settlement, on the side farthest from where Marguerite had entered, and to a low stone hut surrounded by tall flowers that waved in the night's breeze. Summerlee frowned at the foliage, unable to immediately recognize the species. But he had no time to study them as the door to the cottage opened and they were ushered inside.

The five of them would have filled the small room easily, but there were also four other beings present, including their guide. One other was Rosea, one Titus, and the fourth an extremely elderly woman with silver hair. At least she seemed elderly at first glance; her movements as she motioned to chairs and went to the hearth to fetch a spouted pot were those of a much younger woman.

They seated themselves and waited. The old woman filled earthen cups with liquid from the pot, and Rosea passed them to the guests. The other four looked at Summerlee, who sniffed the fragrant contents, then tasted gingerly. He nodded. "Appears to be an herbal tea. Quite good."

"It is very good," the old woman said in a clear voice, taking the sole remaining unoccupied chair by the fire. "It will wipe away any traces of fog remaining from this afternoon's incident."

Rosea said, "This is my great-grandmother, Lilium. My grandfather, Titus. And my brother, Alnus."

Challenger quickly gave the names of his companions. "Madame, can you offer us an explanation of what is happening here? Why were we brought here? What has happened to our friend?"

"Five of you were brought by mistake," Lilium replied. "The scouting party sought the chosen one. When they used the sleeping powder on all of you in error, they were frightened, and thought they must carry you here. They did not know where to find Marguerite."

"I don't understand this," Marguerite said, irritably. "What is this business about me being a chosen one. Chosen by who? For what?"

"That is something you must learn for yourself in due time," Lilium replied with a serene smile. "But I will tell you that our queen sees in you a great threat to her reign."

"She's afraid you will overthrow her," Alnus cried, "And restore the throne rightly to Grandmama."

Seeing the confusion on the faces of the visitors, Titus began to speak. "Many years ago, centuries in your time, we were a happy settlement, and my mother here was the much loved queen."

"Centuries!" Malone interrupted.

Titus smiled. "In your years, I am over seven hundred years old. Rosea has nearly two hundred years, while Alnus is a lad with only a century behind him. Our lifespan is much longer than yours. Much longer. A year in your time equal to little more than a few days in ours. But to continue, Dracaena was very jealous of Lilium–they are cousins. She coveted not only the throne, but my father, the Prince Regent. When he resisted her wiles, she poisoned him. Yes, we are susceptible to certain forms of death, and Dracaena knew what they were. In our society, the most severe punishment is banishment, as happened to my granddaughter some half century ago. So Dracaena was banished, and it was expected she would wither and die.

"Instead, she met up with a powerful sorcerer who was taken by the beauty she was at that time. He taught her much magic, and was paid for his kindness by murder. Dracaena returned here with these new powers. She used them to wrest control from Lilium and to rule our people with fear and dread. When Rosea met a young man, a mortal, and fell in love, she sought to have the youth initiated into our tribe as her husband. Dracaena coveted Micah for herself, and with the same spell she is using with your friend, caused him to turn his attentions to her–and banished Rosea."

"We thank you, young man," Lilium said, gazing at Malone, "for your generous act which permitted my granddaughter to return to us."

Malone's cheeks darkened momentarily and he muttered something innocuous. The only reason he had been chosen as satisfactory for the donation of his blood at that time had been his lack of sexual experience. He did not dare look at Veronica just now; was she remembering the incident with Kaya a few months back?

"Dracaena has continued her harsh rule," Titus continued. "She is very powerful, able to cast a mind spell that relaxes only when she sleeps–or when she must use it to control a less susceptible being, a mortal such as your friend. Dracaena has chosen him for her prince."

"I hope you can explain that further," Challenger said quickly, cutting off the explosive words that appeared ready to leap from Marguerite.

"I will," Lilium said. "Dracaena has developed a mental power that causes all of us to obey her against our will. The only reason we can sit here and tell you this is because she is sleeping. She must sleep to regenerate her strength."

"Why is it you do not overpower her when she sleeps?" Summerlee inquired.

"Because she has faithful guards. One is the woman Agathis, a distant cousin of ours. You may have seen her today. Another guard is Callitris, a man seduced by Dracaena's power. They keep watch while she sleeps. Along with those visible sentries are the minions Dracaena can summon"

"Minions!" Several of the visitors spoke at once, remembering their recent experience with the evil giant.

"A shape-shifter?" Marguerite asked?

Lilium shook her head. "These minions are quite different."

"They are horrible creatures!" Rosea cried. "Green and slimy and–just horrible!"

"They are something her wizard lover taught her how to conjure," Titus said. "They are visible only when she summons them. When they come, they are completely under Dracaena's sway, following her orders. Generally her behest is to carry someone who has offended her off into the netherworld, never to be seen again."

"You said she is also weakened when it is necessary to control a mortal," Marguerite said, wondering when and if she was going to awaken from this nightmare. "What does that mean?"

"If your friend–what is his name?"

"Roxton," Challenger supplied, "Lord John Roxton."

"A lord," Lilium mused. "No wonder Dracaena is so anxious. Dracaena must use a large portion of her mental powers to prevent him from seeing her as she really is. Although she was able to return to her people after the banishment, the alteration in her mental powers affected her physical state. Quite likely you saw her as a beautiful woman. That is how Lord Roxton sees her. Marguerite, what did you see?"

"A hag. An ugly hag."

"That is because Dracaena cannot force her will upon you, and she knows it. That is why she was so fearful when Rosea told of the chosen one she had encountered. For months, she compelled our people to search for you. All they had, of course, was the description Rosea was forced to reveal to Dracaena. One saw you recently, and followed you to your home. The band was sent to capture you, but as mentioned, they made a terrible error and did not know what to do but bring everyone back here."

"What happened to Micah?" Veronica asked abruptly. "You said he was to be initiated into your tribe. How?"

"That is the rest of the story," Titus took up. "There is a ceremony which can only be performed during a blue moon–when we have two new moons within a thirty-day span. Dracaena planned to perform this ceremony on Micah, but we were told he became ill and died. We have speculated among ourselves that perhaps she misused the spell, and caused his death." 

Summerlee looked at Challenger, and then spoke in a low voice. "A blue moon is due within the week."

"Exactly," Titus nodded. "Dracaena plans to keep Roxton under her spell until then, and perform the ceremony which will change him into one of us."

"Oh my god," Marguerite breathed. "A faery! Roxton a faery?" It would be ludicrous–if not so frightening.

"What can we do?" Veronica asked tersely.

"Nothing at the moment," Titus replied. "Enjoy your visit. Do not behave as though you are concerned about your friend, or that you know what is in store for him. Dracaena had Roxton placed in the prison house with you to test the strength of her spell. It seems she has been studying on it, and is more powerful with it now. However, all of us felt a shift in her control the moment she laid eyes on the handsome stranger. More of her powers are required to control his mind alone than she had been required to exert for the entire village. There is also a drain when you are in her presence, to cause you to see her in the form of a beautiful woman. Although we are not completely free–no one could attack her, for instance, or attempt to pass through the boundaries of our settlement–the reins have been loosened. She must rely on Agathis, Callitris and her creatures to be her guards. Very likely Dracaena will want Lord Roxton to be with you further–especially with Marguerite–to assure herself that he is completely under her control." Marguerite almost demanded an explanation of this statement, but decided to remain silent as Lilium looked at her. 

"There is one thing you should know, Marguerite. Until the transformation is complete, until Roxton becomes one of us, Dracaena cannot mate with him."

Marguerite looked away quickly, lest anyone see the surge of elation she was experiencing with this information. Everything was so confusing, unbelievable, and–well, just unbelievable. Had she not seen the girl Rosea fly, or the woman Dracaena in her true guise while the others saw her as the beautiful imposter, she would laugh at it all. And if she had not seen Roxton's face.

****

Veronica touched Marguerite's shoulder, then shook her slightly. "Marguerite, wake up." The raven-haired woman opened her eyes and stared in confusion for a moment, then sat up abruptly, the soft bedclothes falling away to reveal the brief gown she had been given as nightwear. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Veronica smiled. "At least nothing new. But we have been summoned to breakfast. I didn't think you would want to miss it."

Marguerite looked at the younger woman and her brows lifted slightly. "Lovely gown." Veronica was now attired in a soft pink toga-like gown very similar to what the women of the village wore.

"Compliments of Dracaena. There's one for you." She pointed to a bench against the far wall.

Marguerite slid of the bed and crossed the room, picking up the mass of cloth. It was of the finest fabric she had ever seen, light as a feather against her skin, and the color was a deep pink. "God, this is beautiful!"

"I suspect Dracaena wants to test Roxton's willpower to the fullest."

Marguerite scowled, but once again chose not to comment. She washed her face in a marble basin, splashing the warm, scented water against her skin, then slipped the gown over her head. It flowed over her body like molten silk, swaying just below her knees, as she had noticed the fabric do on other women, even without movement or a breeze present. After running a comb through her hair and slipping her feet into some light sandals, she followed Veronica out the door.

She had half expected to see the Challenger, Malone and Summerlee garbed similarly to the village males in togas, but they were in their regular clothing. Marguerite did not miss noticing how Malone's gaze fastened on Veronica's curves. Odd, she mused, as they followed the woman sent to fetch them down toward the center of the village, Veronica daily exposed much more of her skin than this gown did, yet Malone was obviously entranced.

Dracaena's home was a dozen times larger than any other residence, and upon entering through the broad front door, the explorers saw that it was far more lavishly furnished. Ornate tapestries and silken draperies hung from the walls, golden sconces held torches and candles, rich, soft carpeting warmed the stone floors. The couches and chairs were covered with soft pillows and more draping fabric. In the long dining hall to which they were escorted, a heavy table was set with golden dishes and utensils. Marguerite quickly mentally totted up the value of the tableware, and shook her head slightly. Incredible. She doubted that the king of England could set a table like this one.

A half dozen citizens of the village were at the table, including Titus. Introductions were made, but Marguerite didn't pay much attention to the names, except for Agathis, mentioned last night as one of Dracaena's faithful guards. Agathis appeared to be slightly beyond middle age in human years, but like Lilium, retained a semblance of beauty as she aged. Dracaena had paid a great price for her lust for power and other women's men.

Something nudged at Marguerite's conscience, but she pushed it aside. Desiring great wealth was not the same as desiring a kingdom. Nothing, not even gold and jewels, could stop the onrush of mortal age–but a fortune would certainly make those advancing years more comfortable.

They were escorted to chairs, and Marguerite found she was placed in the first chair from the head of the table, on the right–a place of honor in ordinary society. Did it have the same meaning here? The first chair directly across from her was vacant, with Agathis in the one beside it. The others were placed around the table, alternating mortals with villagers.

For several minutes, nothing happened. No one spoke, and Marguerite got the impression that no one dared speak. She and her companions remained silent, waiting. A bell tinkled with a silvery sound, and all the villagers got to their feet swiftly. The explorers rose after a moment's hesitation, Challenger leading the way.

Dracaena entered through the far door, followed by two men. One was Roxton, clad now in a soft ivory-colored silk shirt that accented his weather-golden skin and ebony hair, not to mention the powerful form of his body. The other man was somewhat smaller, obviously a faery–or whatever they were–moving with that gliding step that was becoming so familiar. He was blond, but he wore his hair much shorter than the other men. Nor was he as handsome as most others, Marguerite decided. It was not so much his facial features, but the expression on those features, and the sharpness in his gaze as it swept around the room.

Dracaena appeared the same to Marguerite as she had yesterday, a decrepit, ugly woman, today clad in crimson. Marguerite glanced at Veronica, who nodded slightly to confirm that she was seeing the beautiful Dracaena. No one moved as the trio advanced to the table. Callitris–for that was surely who the other man was–held his queen's chair, then moved to the seat alongside Marguerite's. Roxton took the one across from Marguerite. Only when Dracaena was settled in her chair did everyone else seat themselves.

Other people silently glided in, bearing plates and bowls of food which they quietly, efficiently served then stepped back to wait until they could next be of service. Marguerite briefly wondered how this society was stratified, and how some people were chosen to sit at the queen's table while others served. She was half surprised not to see Rosea or Lilium among the servants.

After a few moments, Dracaena opened the conversation. "Marguerite, may I say how lovely you are. My darling, don't you agree?" She addressed this to Roxton.

He looked at the queen for a moment, then glanced at Marguerite. "Yes, my love."

His soft words froze Marguerite's blood. The hand resting on her lap formed into a tight fist. Had she not been told of the power Dracaena possessed, she might have believed that Roxton was deeply in love with the hag–whom he obviously saw as a desirable woman. 

Marguerite took a breath as she waited while some food–looked something like herbed potatoes, only with a pink tinge–was spooned onto her golden plate. "You are a lucky woman, your highness. Lord Roxton does not give his favors easily."

Dracaena smiled–grimaced really–displaying yellowed, crooked teeth. "I have given your friend a new name. He will be known as Pharus henceforth."

Challenger saw Marguerite's mouth tighten. He spoke quickly. "Your majesty, excuse me. I'm afraid we don't know the protocol. May we address you?"

The emerald green eyes glowed in his direction and she smiled. Incredible to believe that this fabulous creature was not what Marguerite was seeing, was apparently not the true form. "Of course. You are strangers here, so we would not expect you to know our customs."

"It is apparent that Lord Roxton–Pharus–has become enamored of you. And who could blame him? I'm afraid we need to return to our home soon. I'm wondering–can you spare his company for a short while, for a farewell visit?" Challenger smiled his most ingratiating smile.

The eyes glittered, though her smile did not alter. "I hope you will stay a few more days–to attend the wedding. After the ceremony, you may have a long visit with my darling."

"Your majesty," Malone said with what he hoped sounded like breathless eagerness. "I am a journalist–a writer. Is it possible I could talk to you about this fascinating village? I don't think I've ever seen such a beautiful, er, people." He allowed his gaze to drop as though embarrassed. When he looked up again, Dracaena was beaming. "I would like to write about–Livornia. And could I possibly have a tour of your magnificent home here?"

"I'm sure that could be arranged." Draecana's slender fingers plucked almost self-consciously at the shining hair that flowed over her softly rounded shoulders. Marguerite saw bony fingers that scrabbled at the stringy graying strands lying limply on the scrawny frame. She was preening like a peacock, Marguerite realized with disgust. Wasn't it enough to have one man under her spell?

****

Alnus was waiting at their cottages, with a quick whispered message that Lilium wanted to speak to them again that night. As they entered the men's quarters, Summerlee commented, "I presume these people are still afraid that Dracaena can hear their very thoughts, during the day at least."

"Hope she can't hear ours," Malone responded.

"I wish she could read mine," Marguerite grated. "The damn bitch!"

"At the table," Veronica said, "Several times she seemed to go–out of focus. I believe a couple of the local people saw it as well."

Challenger nodded. "I didn't notice it myself, but I saw the gentleman directly across from me stare at her in a strange manner. It could be that the strain of controlling Roxton is telling on her, as Lilium suggested."

"That could be why she is keeping him in the palace," Summerlee said. "She can lock him up and not expend so much energy for at least a short time."

"If only we could talk to him," Malone added. "And maybe get him out of reach of her–her brain waves."

"Right now that looks like our best option," Challenger put in. "But let's talk to Lilium tonight and see if she has any ideas. We have a couple of days yet before the blue moon."

****

Marguerite found a stone bench near the center of the village, and sat on it. She would have preferred someplace with more solitude, but none was to be found within the settlement, and Challenger had asked them all–warned them–to not attempt to leave the boundaries of the town. He was unsure what the consequences would be, to them or Roxton, and they did not want to risk causing any hint of suspicion yet. They did not know for certain just how much Dracaena knew of their feelings.

I hope she knows mine, Marguerite thought bitterly. But she wondered if, since Dracaena could not cast a spell to cause her to see her as the beautiful creature the others saw, did that mean the queen could not penetrate her mind at all?

Damn! If only she had not been so stubborn, and had been with the others when the narcotic mist was spread over them. If they had all been brought here at the same time, if she had been with Roxton–no, that probably would have made little difference. In fact, if the "chosen one" had been brought to the village unconscious, it was entirely possible Dracaena might have had some means to dispose of her.

_Chosen one!_ What the hell did that mean? Lilium said she would learn "in time." Perhaps she could persuade the old faery to reveal more information than that. "Chosen." Chosen for what? A life of hell? A lonely life without–

Marguerite closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them quickly because against her eyelids she saw the softly smiling face of the rugged man who had come to mean so much to her these past months. She had fought against it, fought hard, but it was a losing battle, she knew. Was it all going to end this way?

After everything they had faced these past months, from the escape from cannibals down in the Amazonian jungle, to the wild flight in the balloon that brought them to this plateau, and all the people and creatures they had met, was it all going to end because a horrid hag could make John Roxton think she was the creature of his dreams? Could Dracaena possibly convert him into one of these ethereal creatures?

At least, if Lilium was correct, Dracaena had not yet consummated the union. Faeries and mortals could not mate, it seemed. Probably meant that poor Rosea had never known the love of Micah, either. Dracaena must feel very frustrated, Marguerite thought with a smile. She had all this power but could not grasp what she probably wanted the most.

_And I had it within my power all these months_, Marguerite mused. _I could have had him as a lover at any time, and I resisted the temptation, feeling it would have been a weakness on my part_.

She sighed heavily. Unless they figured out a way to overcome Dracaena's wicked powers, Roxton would be lost to her forever. What were these green, slimy minions Rosea shuddered over? Were they that bad, that unconquerable?

"This place doesn't exist."

The voice startled Marguerite momentarily. She had been so lost in thought as to almost forget her surroundings, and looked up to see Veronica standing beside her, gazing off into the distance above the trees that hemmed the village. Marguerite was amused to notice the blonde was still attired in the garb provided this morning; she would have thought that unlike herself, Veronica would have wanted to quickly change back into her usual clothing.

"What are you looking for?"

Veronica sat down on the bench. "Do you remember about a month ago, when you and I were hunting for boar with Malone? We came right through here."

Marguerite frowned, then shook her head. "Couldn't have. We didn't see this place."

"That's what I mean!" Veronica kept her voice low. "I am absolutely positive we walked on this very place. I remember the angle of the mountain over there, and I recall that large tree."

Marguerite looked toward the tree Veronica was staring at, and now she too recalled that Ned had been particularly entranced by the shape of the tree, pausing to sketch it in his journal. "What does it mean?"

"I remember my father telling me a tale about a village in Ireland that came and went at certain periods of time–I can't remember the name of it, or why it appeared or vanished."

Marguerite nodded. "I think I've heard the story."

"Perhaps this is a village like that. In Ireland I presume they were leprechauns or something. Somehow, for some reason, the entire settlement can appear or disappear."

Marguerite felt a sudden chill. "Perhaps it has disappeared already–with us inside."

Veronica smiled briefly. "I don't think so. We–uh-oh. Look who's taking a stroll."

Marguerite looked around. Queen Dracaena and her entourage, including John Roxton, were walking slowly down the cobbled roadway that separated the main buildings where Marguerite had noticed the villagers coming and going with market baskets, entering with empty vessels, emerging with them filled with greens and other vegetables. She had not bothered to wonder where these items were coming from.

Almost as a reflex, Marguerite's hand sought Veronica's wrist and clutched it. "Damnable bitch," she grated, glaring at the manner in which Lord Roxton allowed the crone to lean on his arm, his free hand gently over hers.

"Marguerite!" Veronica hissed. "Take your hand away!"

Perturbed, Marguerite jerked her hand back. "Sorry!" she snapped. Since when was Veronica becoming so touchy?

The blonde young woman didn't even look at her, staring at the approaching party–and she grasped Marguerite's hand again. "Oh, my God!" Releasing the hand, she got to her feet.

Baffled, Marguerite rose also. They did not want to do anything to arouse Dracaena's suspicions–at least no more than they must already be–nor her ire.

"Good day, your highness," Veronica called.

Dracaena's thin lips widened in a smile, or what was probably supposed to be a smile, Marguerite decided. The woman really should concentrate on keeping her features composed, because any show of emotion increased her ugliness.

"Veronica, Marguerite. I'm so glad to see you out enjoying this beautiful weather. I decided we should take a stroll and find your friend Mr. Malone, rather than simply summoning him. Do you know his whereabouts?"

Veronica stiffened slightly, then recalled Ned's request at breakfast this morning. "I'm quite certain he's in the cottage, making some notes in his journal. Shall I fetch him for you, your highness?" She retained her smile and made her voice pleasant.

"I would be ever so grateful. Marguerite and I can chat while we wait." Dracaena moved to sit on the bench, Callitris and Agathis going to stand behind her. "Pharus, my darling, please sit with me."

Marguerite's breath caught in her throat. The love and adoration in Roxton's greenish-brown eyes as he stepped over to sit beside the old hag, taking her hand, was unbelievable–unbearable. If he had ever looked at her like that–but he had. Marguerite knew he had, more than once, and she had turned away from it, or made some cruel remark to vanquish it. God, would she never have the opportunity to have that soft gaze on her face again?

"Do sit down, Marguerite," the queen invited, patting the bench alongside her.

Silently Marguerite did as bade, careful not to look across the old woman at the man, for it was becoming far too painful.

"Tell me how you and your companions, including my darling, came to be in this world? It is obvious you are not one of the usual inhabitants."

Marguerite took a breath and attempted to sound conversational, normal. "We were on an exploratory expedition and accidentally became trapped here. We have been unable to find our way off the plateau."

"Really? It is unfortunate that we have not encountered one another before this time, for I can give you that information."

Marguerite's gaze jumped to Roxton, half expecting him to be experiencing the same sense of exhilaration that she was at this news. But he was holding tightly to Dracaena's hand, his eyes glazed with love. The statement meant nothing to him.

"Where is it?" Marguerite asked, though the joy was dampened.

"I will bestow it upon you as a wedding gift. After the ceremony, when my darling Pharus is truly mine and mine alone, I will tell you how to leave the plateau. I'm sure you will have no reason to wish to remain."

"Thank you," Marguerite murmured, relieved to see Veronica and Malone approaching.

Dracaena rose. "Ah, Mr. Malone. I am ready to offer you the tour of my humble home if you are ready."

Ned Malone casually walked around the bench and paused beside the seated Marguerite. "Thank you, your majesty. That would be wonderful. I am most grateful." He put his hand on Marguerite's shoulder, then removed it as Marguerite looked up, questioningly.

"Aren't you worried?" Marguerite asked dryly as they watched the group walk away. "Her worship might decide she needs two studs to service her adequately."

Veronica laughed softly. "I don't think Ned is her type. Let's go back to the cottage. We need to talk."

Without waiting for Marguerite's assent, she turned and headed toward their residences, and after hesitating a moment, Marguerite followed, sensing that something was occurring that she was not aware of nor understood. Challenger and Summerlee were standing outside their bungalow, eyes anxious on Veronica as they approached.

"Did it?" Challenger asked tersely.

"It did," Veronica replied, and led the way inside.

"That's amazing," Challenger said, and Marguerite realized all three were staring at her.

"What? What did I do?"

"My dear," Summerlee said, gently, "None of us may quite understand what it means when you are called a chosen one,' but it is obvious that you have particularly potent powers."

"What?" Marguerite was beginning to be both irritated and frightened by the intensity of their gazes.

Veronica saw this, and spoke quickly. "Marguerite, when we were on the bench, and saw Dracaena coming, you grabbed my arm."

"So? Sorry!"

"No, no. It's not that. What I mean is, when you touched my arm, I no longer saw Dracaena as a beautiful woman! I saw the hag!"

Marguerite took a breath, suddenly recalling what else had occurred. "And Malone?"

"I told them about it when I came for him, and told him to be sure to touch you. We arranged a signal, a wink. The same thing happened. When he had his hand on your shoulder, he saw Dracaena in her true form."

Marguerite sank onto a nearby chair, her legs suddenly seeming to be unable to support her body. Her hands went up to either side of her face, pressing there. "My God! What does this mean? I don't understand what is happening."

Summerlee quickly sat down on the chair nearby and reaching over to put a hand on her arm. "Don't fret, my dear. We may not understand the why and wherefore of it, but we know certain things. One is that you are immune to Dracaena's mind-controlling power, and the other is that when one of us comes in contact with you, the immunity passes to us."

"And the same might happen with Roxton," Challenger stated flatly.

Marguerite looked up, dropping her hands. "Do you think so?" She jumped up and paced across the room, then turned back. "But what difference does it make? Dracaena will not let me close enough to touch him. And I couldn't keep my hand on him constantly, anyway. As soon as I let go, it would start all over again. And she could call up her creatures–!" She sank into the chair again.

Challenger came to her, leaning down, his arm going over her shoulders in an uncharacteristic gesture of solicitude. "My dear, the point is, we know this now. Dracaena may or may not know it, particularly that you are capable of passing your immunity on to us temporarily. We will continue to make her believe we are seeing the alluringly beautiful female–which will be the truth so long as you are not in contact. Tonight we will meet with Lilium and convey this information. Among us, we should be able to figure out how to use it."

"We don't have much time," Summerlee said grimly. "The blue moon will be tomorrow night."

"So soon?" Marguerite cried. "I thought we had more time."

"I did some calculations. Tomorrow night, I'm afraid."

Marguerite jumped up once more and walked across the room to the small window which looked out onto the thick growth of the jungle beyond. She turned around, arms gripped across her stomach. "Did Veronica tell you about this place–that it doesn't exist?"

Challenger nodded. "It's somewhat difficult to comprehend, but with everything else we've witnessed in this incredible place, I don't think we can particularly discount it. And of course what it means is that we have one chance to save Roxton. If we cannot do it by tomorrow night, and if Dracaena can indeed convert him to–to one of their own, the entire village may disappear, and Roxton with it. Of course, at that point, he may have no inclination to return with us."

"We can't allow it to reach that point," Veronica said grimly. 

"I think our next step is to await Ned's return," Summerlee put in. "And then talk to Lilium tonight. She may have some insights once she learns of this power of Marguerite's."

"Power!" Marguerite spun toward the window, then back again. "I don't understand this. I don't like it! What the hell does this chosen' business mean? Why me?"

"I'm afraid none of us can answer that at the moment," George Challenger said, going to her and putting his hands on her shoulders. "But you can't allow it to daunt you, Marguerite. Somehow we have to use it to rescue Roxton from the clutches of this creature. Lilium will know."

The four spent a restless and anxious hour, awaiting Malone's return, and they could see immediately that he had exciting information. However, he sat down on a bed and opened his journal book to a blank page. "Let me have a minute to sketch this while it's fresh in my mind." He drew some lines and after a few moments the design was obvious: the floor plan of the queen's home. His pencil paused, and he stared at the drawing a moment, made a couple of minor alterations, then sat back.

"It's not difficult, really. Several corridors."

"What good is it to us?" Marguerite demanded. "Are we going to storm the gates? What about Dracaena's slimy green minions?"

Malone glanced at Challenger. "Let me tell you what happened. I put on my best cub-reporter act, as though I was almost overwhelmed by the honor she was bestowing upon me. I talked a mile a minute, asking questions and barely giving her time to answer, then offering a groveling apology, letting her know that I thought she is the most wonderful creature in existence."

"That's nice," Veronica murmured.

Ned glanced at her and grinned briefly. "The thing is, she is accustomed to being fawned over by Agathis and Callitris, and anyone, like Roxton, that she has under her power. But here I was, an outsider, behaving as though she had cast a spell on me, when she hadn't. I asked so many questions, demanded details, always making sure she felt I was in complete awe of her beauty and power–and keeping it coming rapid-fire so that she didn't have time to attempt to read my real thoughts, if she has that power. And, get this, I think she was so busy answering me that she could not keep her concentration on Roxton–or me, for that matter. I mean, the power that causes us to see her as a beautiful woman. Several times she sort of got hazy. Know what I mean? I could see the shadow of a wart on her chin, and the color of her hair wasn't quite as vivid. Best of all, I think Roxton wavered too. I tried to watch him without her knowing I was doing it. Most of the time he had his eyes on her, full of devotion, but those same moments when I saw her image get fuzzy, I could see his expression change slightly, as though he was confused."

Marguerite paced around restlessly as she listened, and when Malone's narration paused, she did too. "So what good is that to us? Are you going to talk her to death?"

"It's another weapon for our arsenal, Marguerite," Challenger said patiently. "We have to use every advantage."

"What worries me," Veronica said slowly, glancing around the room, "is whether Dracaena might be toying with us. Suppose somehow she know what we are saying and thinking right now?"

"That's possible." Challenger admitted, "But somehow I think not likely. From what Lilium said the other night, Dracaena is required to concentrate her powers on controlling Roxton and the villagers. She can't control Marguerite, obviously. Marguerite, have you seen any signs that any of us–beyond Roxton–are behaving differently?"

Marguerite shook her head, resisting the impulse to say something smart. This was no time for jokes. Roxton's life depended on it. And perhaps her life as well.

****

Lilium poured tea and then settled back into her chair as Malone repeated what he had learned that afternoon. They had already told her of how Marguerite's touch appeared to negate Dracaena's spell.

"At the evening meal," Titus said thoughtfully, as Malone concluded, "I noticed, Marguerite, that you attempted to get near Lord Roxton."

"And Agathis or Callitris always cut me off," Marguerite concurred. "It is obvious Dracaena does not want me to touch him."

"She will summon the minions to stop you, if necessary," Rosea cried. "And they cannot be defeated."

"But they can," Lilium said quietly. "They are as much under Dracaena's power as any of us, perhaps more."

"You mean that they spring from her mind?" Summerlee inquired.

"In a sense. Mr. Malone, did you see any sign of them in the palace?"

"Now that you mention it–once when we turned a corner, I thought I saw a light flash, but we were not near a window. A greenish light. Do you mean they are in the palace?"

"I suspect their essence is always near. They were created to protect Dracaena, to do her bidding."

"Have you actually seen them?" Veronica wanted to know.

A wave of sadness washed across the face of the silver-haired lady, and was reflected on the faces of her son and great-grandchildren. Lilium said, "I have. The day they took my grandson and his wife–Titus's son and the parents of Rosea and Alnus."

"Took them? How? Where?" Challenger leaned forward intently.

"Gordus and Violeta were attempting to get the throne back for me. I begged them not to, but they were determined. Gordus thought he had found a way. All he needed to do was place a crown of the eternity leaf on the head of Dracaena."

"The eternity leaf? What is that?" Summerlee inquired.

"It's the plant growing right outside my door. The only one in existence. It is the only thing that can kill Dracaena."

"Does she know it's there?" Marguerite wanted to know.

"Oh, yes. Yes indeed. It is part of her little joke. It grows outside my door to remind us of the loss of our kin, and yet she knows we would never attempt to use it again. Not after what happened."

"And what did happen?" Malone asked.

"Gordus attempted to place the wreath on Dracaena, but instantly he and Violeta were surrounded by the minions, creating a circle around them, and my grandson and his wife vanished into the abyss of nothingness."

"Good God," Summerlee breathed.

"What is the abyss of nothingness'?" Challenger demanded.

Titus answered, "We don't know for certain, of course, since no one who has been taken there ever returns. Dracaena says it is a place where you exist without feeling for eternity, always aware that you are nowhere, and that you cannot return to the living world."

Marguerite experienced a chill on her spine, and glancing at her friends, saw that they felt the same uneasiness. "But you said they can be defeated."

Lilium nodded. "By love."

"Love! You mean if we cozy up to them and tickle their toes?" Marguerite was scornful.

Lilium chuckled. "If it were only that easy. No, my dear. I mean the love and devotion that you, all of you, have for your friend Lord Roxton. As I see it, you have two opportunities to free him, one tonight, one tomorrow night at the ceremony. And I suggest you attempt both."

"Please explain," Summerlee said quickly, cutting off Marguerite who was about ready to explode.

"Tonight, Marguerite must use Mr. Malone's knowledge of the palace and attempt to reach Lord Roxton."

"What good would that do?" Marguerite demanded in an attempt hide the fear she was experiencing. "He doesn't even know me!"

"The heart always knows," Lilium smiled, her eyes catching Marguerite's and holding for a long moment.

Veronica said gently, "Marguerite, if you can get to him, put your hands on him, it may break the spell long enough to get him out of there."

"And you'd better go soon," Challenger warned. "It's close to midnight already."

"Be aware," Lilium warned. "Because Dracaena is concentrating her power on Lord Roxton, your mere touch may not be enough to free him, as it did with Veronica and Malone. You may be required to exert more of your own magical powers."

****

Odd. She had not noticed until now that the sounds of the surrounding jungle did not penetrate into Livornia. Probably because there had always been other sounds, people talking, moving about. But walking down the deserted byway between the darkened buildings, the silence was utterly complete. Her soft sandals did not even make a sound against the cobbles. Faery sandals, Marguerite thought wryly. To bad this chosen one status did not offer the ability to fly. At least she didn't think it did–she fought against a sudden and ridiculous impulse to flap her arms like a bird.

Challenger had given her his matches, but even though the moon was a mere sliver, the light was adequate to see the way. The stone structures around her almost seemed to cast their own luminance, although the glow was not strictly visible. Just there. 

This was a crazy scheme. It would take a miracle to get through the palace undetected. Malone had described how after a while during his tour, Dracaena instructed Callitris to escort "Pharus" to his quarters. He thought that Dracaena was realizing how difficult it was becoming for her to keep the strength of her spell at the level needed to retain him under her power, because after Roxton was gone, she no longer wavered in Malone's vision.

He had not seen exactly where Roxton was taken, but later as they wandered the corridors and Dracaena regaled him with tales of the value and history of various objects, he noticed that they did not go through one securely closed door. When Malone made a move toward that door, Agathis cut him off and Dracaena drew him on further to another room. Ned was certain that closed door was Roxton's quarters.

Marguerite had studied the drawings and memorized all the turns she must take. The first step, however, was gaining undetected entrance. Both Titus and Lilium stated that the castle doors could not be locked, even by Dracaena. No door in the village could be, except that on the prison building. Lilium said something strange about that: "Accidental intruders are usually locked in the building until it is time for us to go."

As for guards, Agathis and Callitris slept in rooms adjoining on either side of Dracaena's room. Draecana had placed a particular spell on the pair long ago giving them especially acute senses at night. If anyone neared the queen, they would awaken immediately.

It seemed from Ned's map that Roxton's room was some distance from that of the queen. Challenger had questioned this and Lilium had smiled in a rather pleased manner. "I told you she cannot mate with a mortal. Nor can she gaze upon him while he sleeps, not if she wishes to bring him into the clan. She has put him far enough away so that she will not catch even an accidental glimpse."

Titus added to this, "We mentioned we were told Micah had died after Rosea was banished. There is a chance that Dracaena saw him, accidentally or no, as he slept, perhaps while he was ill. He was then useless to her as a future mate. It is entirely possible that in her rage she sent him into the abyss. We were never allowed to see his corpse."

Marguerite recalled the expression she had seen on Rosea's face as her grandfather related this. The young faery would rather her beloved be dead than consigned to this purgatory. Marguerite realized she shared the same sentiments.

Reaching the stairs that led up to the broad front door of the palace, Marguerite stood still a long moment, listening. No sound came from inside or outside of the building. Taking a breath, she moved up the steps, and again paused at the door, her ear pressed to the wood. Nothing. The latch yielded easily and quietly, and she was inside. She closed the door behind her.

No candles or lights of any kind were burning, yet she could see quite well. As outside, these walls seems to have a glowing aura, seen yet unseen. Walking quietly along the main hallway, Marguerite wondered if it was so to everyone, or was it merely her status as "chosen" that allowed her to see this well. 

She concentrated on the silence, on maintaining it, and on counting the turns she made, and suddenly was in the passageway that Malone described. The first door was of very dark wood, as he said. But suppose she had made a wrong turn somewhere, and there was a second dark door? Suppose she opened it and found Dracaena awaiting her, prepared to send the green minions after her, to plunge her into the abyss? Nothing had been said whether her so-called chosen status made her immune to those creatures!

Taking a deep breath, Marguerite put her hand on the latch and pushed the door inward. The breath came out slowly as she saw the large bed, and the man sprawled on it, apparently deeply asleep. In the ambient light, his hair was very dark, his bare shoulders above the covering gleaming ever so slightly.

She closed the door securely and walked to the bed. For a long while she gazed down at him, suddenly remembering the moment when he had teased her about watching him sleep. Like a baby, he said. Sleep did relax his features, make them more boyish, even more handsome if that was possible.

Marguerite reached out a hand and touched his bare shoulder. As always, spell or no spell, he was instantly awake, his eyes wide and staring at her. She saw the panic and fear wash over his face, the confusion. He opened his mouth as though to cry out. As Lilium had suggested, the mere touch of her hand had not been enough. Without really thinking, she leaned over and pressed her mouth against his.

Only a second elapsed before she felt his body relax and his arms came up around her shoulders, pulling her down to him. Something in the back of her mind told her to break this off, that time was of the essence. But something more primal, more needful kept her in his arms, and her hands caressed his body.

****

An eternity later she breathed deeply, her head on his bare chest, half sleeping, not caring about evil faeries or green minions. She was whole again. Or perhaps not again, perhaps for the first time in her life. She could never remember ever feeling quite like this, so complete, so filled with love. He had said it time and again, and she was pretty certain she had echoed his words during the fiery passion that had consumed both.

"Marguerite," he whispered after a while. "What the hell is going on?"

She sighed, lifting herself up. This particular spell had been broken, along with Dracaena's. "We have to get dressed and get out of here, quickly. I've been here too long as it is." She slipped off the bed and picked up her gown to drop it over her head.

He swung his legs over the side and picked up the trousers hanging on a chair there, looking around the room as though seeing it for the first time. "Where are we? Last I remember is throwing that damn disk."

"Get dressed," she urged. "You can get the details later."

He stepped into the pants, still gazing about him in obvious perplexity. "I have the damnedest feeling–as though I've been dreaming." He looked at her. "But you aren't a dream. I mean–you're really here with me."

Marguerite caught his hand. "I'm here. And we have to get the hell out of here, quickly."

Before she could make another move, the door burst open. Agathis stood there, smiling. After a moment, she turned away, and called it. "It's all right, my lady."

Marguerite caught Roxton's baffled expression. He had no idea who Agathis was, and he stared open mouthed as Dracaena appeared in the doorway, clutching a shimmering white robe to her bony frame.

"What the hell?" Roxton exclaimed.

"Release him, Marguerite," Dracaena ordered. Her eyes glittered as she surveyed the man's lean body.

"No! You have to let us out of here now!" 

Dracaena's smile was purely evil. Agathis stood just behind her, but beyond them, Marguerite saw a faint glow start to grow–a green glow. "Release his hand, Marguerite, or you may watch him fall into the abyss. I'm sure you've heard of it by now."

"Who are you?" Roxton demanded. "Marguerite–"

Marguerite swallowed. "We'll go together."

Dracaena shook her head. "No. They can't take you, and you know it. But they will take him. Release him, and he will live forever, with me."

The glow was growing stronger, and Marguerite thought she heard a sibilant sound, as of guttural voices chattering. She looked up at the man beside her. "John, I'm sorry." She pulled her hand free.

Instantly his expression changed, and he was smiling at Dracaena, who smirked triumphantly toward Marguerite and came forward to take Roxton's hand. "Lay down, my darling. You must be very tired."

_I'm the one who's tired_, Marguerite thought. _I've lost. I've lost him forever._

Roxton stretched out on the bed, his adoring eyes never leaving the queen's face. Dracaena placed her hand on his forehead and his eyes closed. Then Dracaena turned to face Marguerite. "I have destroyed the memory of this night, Marguerite. He will never remember it, even if I should change my mind–which won't happen. Lord Roxton is mine and will be for so long as I wish. Callitris! Escort Marguerite out of the palace. Tomorrow night she may return to say her farewell and watch the ceremony."

****

Marguerite walked slowly, her head down, feeling as lost and lonely as she ever had in her entire life. If only she had been able to control herself–and him. But it happened so quickly! The fire exploded the moment her lips touched his and he awakened to his own self. He must have thought–what had he thought? He certainly knew nothing of their situation, where he was. Perhaps he thought they were in the tree house and she had come to him she would never know now. Her own uncontrollable passion may have been the result of the strain she had been under, the terrible fear that he was lost forever.

She could not return to the bungalows immediately. The others would be waiting anxiously, but she could not face them with her failure just yet. It didn't make any difference now. Nothing more could be done. Tomorrow night, under the blue moon, Lord John Roxton would cease to exist. Marguerite had no doubt of Dracaena's powers now; she may have failed with Micah, but she would not with Roxton.

Reaching the bench where she had sat with Veronica earlier this day, Marguerite sat down. For a long while she simply sat there, feeling numb. And suddenly the tears came, the sobs that wracked her body. Then warm, comforting arms were around her.

"Marguerite! My dear girl, what happened?"

She turned and sobbed against Summerlee's shoulder, unable to speak for a long while. He simply held her, patting her back, stroking her hair, occasionally saying softly, "There, there. It'll be all right."

Finally she was able to speak, and it all came out in a rush of words, all of it. Then realizing what she was saying and to whom she was speaking, Marguerite was embarrassed. She looked at his kind face. "Arthur, I"

"My dear, do you think I don't remember nights like that? I understand. Of course, I do. You two had held it back so long, and suddenly the floodgates opened, all quite uncontrollable. But all is not lost. There's still tomorrow night."

"But tomorrow night Dracaena will perform the rites! John will be lost to us–to me!"

"Perhaps not," he smiled gently. "We've done a lot of talking while waiting for you, making contingency plans. Veronica has quite a good one , I think."

Reluctantly Marguerite allowed the older man to lead her back to the cottages. She did not want to face the others, to explain what had happened. She had been gone nearly three hours. She could not tell them that they had been merely "talking" all that time. She had failed abominably, all because she–perhaps for the first time in her life–could not control her passions. Such failure was a foreign feeling to Marguerite Krux; to have to admit such failure was almost beyond comprehension. What could she possibly say to make them understand?

Veronica met her at the door, and Marguerite was a little surprised when the younger woman grasped her hand. "We were so worried about you. You couldn't bring Roxton with you?"

Marguerite shook her head, unaware that behind her Summerlee was using his expression to warn the others not to ask certain questions. "We–we were interrupted."

Challenger asked, "But were you able to free Roxton from the spell, at least temporarily?"

Marguerite took a breath. "Yes. When I–kissed him."

"Good," Malone said tersely, handling Marguerite a glass of wine. "That will probably fit into Veronica's plan."

Marguerite realized later that she only half listened when Challenger described what they had in mind. Her own thoughts kept returning to those moments when John Roxton's body melted into hers, and the words he had whispered into her ear, over and over, the way her blood had boiled and time had been suspended. They had not been in this strange civilization known as Livornia, nor even in the world as others knew it. Together they had soared to the planets, beyond the galaxy and she would never know such sensations again. No matter what else happened in the future, whether they escaped from this plateau or not, she knew it would never be the same. No other man in the world could do for her what he had done this night.

She did not sleep well when she returned to the other cottage with Veronica, and was standing at the window staring unseeingly out at the greenery when Veronica stirred. In fact, she was unaware that the younger woman had arisen until a hand touched her shoulder. She looked around.

"Marguerite, I asked you if you were ready to go to breakfast."

"I'm not hungry. I'll just stay here."

Veronica's face tightened. "And let Dracaena believe she has won?"

"She has." Marguerite looked toward the window again.

At first she thought that Veronica had departed, for the silence was long. Then Veronica spoke softly. "So you don't love him after all."

Marguerite spun, ready with an angry retort. But the sharp words died on her tongue as she saw the unfamiliar expression on Veronica's face, an expression of complete sympathy and understanding. Marguerite's hands went to her own face to try to hide the tears that were suddenly washing down her cheeks.

Veronica did not try to touch the other woman. She knew that would be too much just now. "I can't pretend to say I completely understand," she said softly, "But I hope to one day. I can only guess what happened last night."

Marguerite took a deep, ragged breath. "We made love. For the first time, we made love. It was–it was unlike anything I could have ever imagined, so completely different than anything I have ever experienced. I felt like–I can't explain it."

"Don't try," Veronica smiled, then her face sobered. "And you were discovered?"

"We were just preparing to leave and Agathis opened the door. I don't know how they knew I was there–perhaps they–they heard us. Or perhaps Dracaena sensed my presence finally. I don't know." She took another breath, feeling calmer. Was it Veronica's gentle understanding? Or perhaps just the release of being able to tell another woman about it. "She forced me to release John. She said she would send him into the abyss, but that I was immune to it."

"That's interesting," Veronica murmured.

"I had to release his hand, and he immediately went under her power. Then she put her hand on his head–she said she erased the memory of, of our time together."

Veronica put her hand gently on the other woman's shoulder. "You'll get another chance, I promise."

Marguerite shook her head. "She's too powerful!"

"She is powerful, to be sure. But I believe that all of us together, combined with your love for John Roxton, can defeat her."

"But she'll call up those green things!"

Veronica gazed at her, a little disturbed. The Marguerite Krux she had come to know–and respect despite herself–over these months had never displayed a lack of confidence toward anything. Then again, they had not faced an opponent like Dracaena previously.

Veronica kept her voice steady. "Marguerite, we must all behave normally today. You must come to breakfast with us. Of course, you would be expected to show some resentment about last night, but you also must not allow Dracaena to think she has defeated you. She has to be wary of you, of all of us, and to concentrate her power on Roxton–and on the rest of us seeing her as a beauty. You remember what we told you last night–"

Marguerite shook her head, smiling a little shamefaced. "I am afraid I wasn't–concentrating very well."

"Get dressed," Veronica said mildly. "I'll explain again."

****

It was almost more than Marguerite could bear. Dracaena's smirk of triumph caused her to appear uglier than ever, though Marguerite saw that no one else appeared to notice. Possibly Dracaena was able to present a composed, gracious appearance to the others. 

Both Roxton and Dracaena were attired in scarlet today, and Roxton had a heavy gold chain around his neck. Blessedly, Malone asked if there was any significance to the jewelry and Dracaena responded that no, she merely wanted her beloved to look his best, and she had given him the chain as a wedding gift.

Malone carried on his act, peppering the queen with questions about the coming ceremonies, and Challenger included a few erudite queries. Dracaena told them little, only that it was an ancient rite, and she had studied the old texts thoroughly so that she was certain she could carry it out successfully.

"I am so pleased you will be able to witness the rites," Dracaena purred. "You will never have such an opportunity. And you can be happy for your friend. His life will be long and happy, I assure you."

"It's a once in a lifetime chance," Malone enthused, jotting something in the notebook beside his plate. "And it will be carried out in the plaza?"

"Just outside the palace doors," Dracaena concurred. "Workmen will commence placement of the altar soon. And when the moon rises–well, I assure you, Mr. Malone, what you will see will be the apex of all your writings. You will never witness anything more magnificent."

"How long does the ceremony last?" Summerlee asked, leaning forward with apparent eager interest.

"Not long. Pharus will join me at the altar and we will repeat the vows and drink the sacred wine. We join hands, and my life force blends with his."

"Fascinating!" Malone exclaimed, scribbling frantically while Dracaena beamed. Marguerite knew that while everyone else was seeing a lovely smile, she viewed thin lips spread wide, baring stained, crooked teeth, the wart on her sagging cheek caught up in the fold of skin.

Only partly to cause Dracaena to realize she still needed to worry about the "chosen one," Marguerite focused much of her attention on Roxton. Was she imagining that his eyes lost a little of that trance-like, adoring gaze as Malone occupied Dracaena's full attention? Did his lips really frown a little? Each time, it was so brief, she was unsure. How in heaven's name could Veronica's plan work? If it was going to take more than simply grasping his hand to rouse him from the spell–she could hardly repeat last night's activity in the plaza!

When the meal ended, Marguerite made an attempt to get close to Roxton, but as had happened previously, Agathis and Callitris moved to bar her way. As the queen passed through the door from the dining room, she cast one last glance toward Marguerite–and it was all the mortal woman could to prevent herself from screaming epithets. _You haven't won! Damn it, you haven't won! He's mine!_ She repeated those words in her mind over and over as she followed her friends outside.

"Let's return to the cottage," Challenger suggested. "We need to make final plans."

At the morning meal, Agathis had announced that because Queen Dracaena needed to make preparations for the ceremony, there would be no midday repast, nor the usual evening supper. Instead there would be a feast after the ceremony, to which all were invited. Before long, however, Alnus appeared at the cottage to tell them that Lilium expected them at her cottage when the sun was high.

Marguerite found it very difficult to disguise her edginess as they sat at the small table in Lilium's abode, while the others discussed inconsequential things. She knew that because no one was certain how much of the will and thoughts of the village inhabitants Dracaena still controlled, none were willing to discuss any of the evening's activities or plans. Yet to just sit here and chat about the herbs that flavored the greens or to listen to Rosea to relate some of her experiences as a mortal was almost beyond endurance. 

They had spent the hours between breakfast and lunch discussing just what they were going to do that evening. It all sounded simple and straightforward, yet each one of them knew that because they were unfamiliar with Dracaena's plans and powers, it was impossible to anticipate a completely successful outcome; they could only hope.

Lilium led them to the small garden alongside her cottage after the meal was completed. Marguerite half listened to Rosea and Titus explaining their horticultural methods to Challenger, while Veronica and Malone kept up a busy conversation with the young Alnus. At first she thought they were all behaving a bit oddly, and then she noticed Lilium lead Summerlee toward the front of the cottage, to what Lilium earlier called the eternity plant.

At Lilium's nod, Marguerite approached them. The silver-haired lady smiled and took her hand. "We need you to protect us, Marguerite."

"Protect you? What do you mean?" The hand touching hers was like that of a feather, barely felt against the skin.

"Think strong thoughts. Think about home, about the ones you love. Cast a shadow over us."

Marguerite almost asked another question, then saw that Summerlee had his penknife in his hand, and his gaze on her face was encouraging her to accede to Lilium's request. So she gazed toward the trees, the sky, and concentrated on thoughts about her life since coming to the plateau. She remembered the time John Roxton offered to sacrifice his own life, at her hand, in order that she might live. She remembered the afternoon she and Veronica had been trapped in the abandoned well, the day they came to something of an understanding between them. The day that she and Roxton and Malone had sought safety in a cave, only to find it was a tomb, with strange writing on the wall, writing that she was disturbingly able to read. Funny how Malone had been so perceptive–even after she cruelly vandalized his journal–to realize that she had been terrified by this new talent. She had come to terms with that ability, and used it to advantage since, but at the time her blood had run cold with fear of the unknown. Was it possible this talent had something to do with this "chosen one" business?

"I believe," Summerlee said, breaking into her thoughts, "That I will return to our quarters and relax a while. Lilium, the meal was delicious. Thank you so much for your hospitality." He was holding his right arm tightly against his side.

"Yes," Challenger said, wandering over, "I think we all should go. We will see you at the ceremony tonight. I expect it will be quite a show."

Liliam smiled. "I expect it will."

They all said their good-byes and expressed their gratitude, but as they started toward their own cottages, Lilium called to Marguerite. "A moment, dear."

Marguerite paused. She saw the shadow in the older woman's eyes. "What is it?"

"I want you to understand, Marguerite, how important you are to this business tonight."

"I think–I think I do understand. I mean, I don't understand why, but I know I have this–this ability, and I must use it to help free John from this terrible curse. I'm just not sure that taking his hand will be enough."

"It won't," Lilium said soberly.

"What? Then what–why are we?" Panic started to flood her brain. Why had the old woman encouraged such actions if she knew it wasn't going to work!

Now Lilium smiled softly. "You must take his hand, but you must also flood your soul and his with love. From the moment you see him, you must do as you just did to help me and Professor Summerlee cover our activities. Think only of Lord John Roxton, and think only of your love for him. It will not only affect him, but will cause Dracaena to have to exert more of her mental power toward him. And fear not, she cannot hurt you."

"I wish," Marguerite said slowly, "that you could tell me more about that."

Lilium's feather-soft hands took both of hers. "It is not my place. One day–I promise you–it will all be revealed to you. Perhaps you'll even learn a little more tonight. Now go join your friends. They need you."

When Marguerite entered the men's quarters, she found Veronica sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, a pile of green stems, leaves and whitish flowers before her. She had picked up several of the stems and her fingers were twisting and braiding them.

"Assai and I used to do this all the time," she smiled. "Did you ever make a wreath, Marguerite?"

Marguerite sat down on the bed. "No. I don't remember of it." She picked up one of the stems, and quickly dropped it. "For goodness sakes!"

"What's wrong?" Malone asked.

She looked at Veronica. "Don't you–feel that?"

Veronica's fingers paused a moment. "Feel what?"

Gingerly, Marguerite plucked on of the stems between two fingers, holding it longer this time. "It–it hums. You don't feel it?"

Veronica shook her head slowly, then grinned widely. "But then I'm not a chosen one."

Marguerite chose to ignore the remark, bringing the stem closer to her face. "There's a song in it."

Challenger came over and picked up another piece of the plant. After a moment, he put it down. "I don't hear a thing."

"You can't hear' it, really. I mean, I can't. It's just–there. A beautiful song, full of–of hope."

"Can you sing it?" Summerlee inquired.

She thought a moment, then shook her head. "I can't explain it. There's no melody as we know it. Just–a song."

"Well, according to Lilium," Malone said, "This is a magic plant. It's the only one that can overcome Dracaena. We have to make her regret deeply that she was arrogant enough to allow it to continue to grow at Lilium's home."

As the afternoon wore on, Marguerite thought that perhaps the only thing that prevented her from going mad was the memory of that sweet melody. Once or twice she attempted to vocalize it, but simply could not repeat it. It was in her head, but would not issue through her vocal cords.

They attempted to behave fairly normally. Malone and Veronica went for a walk around the village with Summerlee, while she and Challenger remained near the cottage for a while. At his suggestion, she walked to the palace and watched the village males setting up the altar site. From somewhere they had produced a marble slab about eight feet long–which must have weighed a ton but which they handled like a piece of plywood! This slab was placed on the ground, and surrounded with brilliant flowers interwoven with silk ribbons. Marguerite did not even try to guess where the flowers came from. She had seen a few within the village, but not this many nor this showy, and they were not varieties she was familiar with anyway.

As she watched, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and spotted Agathis peeking out the front door of the palace. Marguerite turned and stared at her, and Agathis hurriedly vanished. Likely going to run and tell Dracaena. That was good, for they wanted to worry the queen, but it also caused Marguerite to feel uneasy. Even if Dracaena could not harm her, could she do something to prevent her presence here, perhaps lock her in the prison building the others told her about? Even jail them all until after the ceremony? Perhaps Challenger had been wrong to suggest she show herself so blatantly!

The sun sank toward the west. Summerlee had picked up some foodstuffs in what appeared to be the "market," although as he said, no funds were required; not even trade goods. There was no indication of where the food came from. It was simply in bins and the residents loaded their baskets. 

"This tastes like a carrot," Summerlee commented, holding up a round green object that was shaped more like a radish. "I certainly wish I could obtain some seeds."

"I have a notion that even if you did," Veronica smiled, "They wouldn't exist once we leave this place."

"You could very well be right," the professor mused. "Interesting place, this Livornia."

Marguerite walked over to the open door. The sun was just visible over the tops of the buildings. "Do you think we should go? We don't want to miss any of the ceremony."

"She's right," Challenger agreed. "If it is as brief as Dracaena described, we won't have much time to begin with. And we certainly want front row seats!"

As they walked toward the center of the village, Marguerite could feel the thrum of the vegetation tucked under her blouse. Both she and Veronica had changed back into their regular clothes for comfort and practicality. Veronica felt she would be able to move more freely in her loincloth, and Marguerite needed the loose blouse to disguise the wreath she was carrying. They hoped that Dracaena would not be able to detect it on her. Summerlee said that Lilium had suggested this tactic.

With so much of the eternity plant against her body, the song was even louder in her head–more than just her head, Marguerite realized; it seemed to be in her bloodstream. Somehow it seemed familiar, as though she had heard it before, even sang it. Yet it was still not a song she could remember ever hearing before, nor could she sing it now.

A few villagers were already at the altar, and their faces revealed they did not really wish to be there. It had been impossible, of course, to warn the people of what was planned, particularly since no one could really say how much Dracaena received back from the minds she was controlling. Lilium has assured them that her fellow citizens would cooperate when the right time came. The biggest problem would be getting to that "right time."

As dusk fell, some torches were lit, casting a golden glow on the scene. By then it seemed that the entire population, men, women and children, were present, standing in a circle around the altar. No one spoke. There was no buzz of anticipation, no whispers of excitement. Everyone knew what was planned here and none wished to celebrate it.

It would have been different, Marguerite mused, gazing across the altar to where Rosea stood with her brother, grandfather, and great-grandmother, had Micah participated in the ceremony with Rosea. Micah had wished to join the tribe, to leave his mortal trappings behind. John Roxton was being forced–not exactly against his will, for he had no will–but forced to take part. If Dracaena succeeded, he would have no memory of his previous life.

Then, just as the full moon–the blue moon–began to rise over the palace, Agathis appeared in the doorway. She wore a long gown of white with white ribbons in her graying hair, and her face was glowing with anticipation as she descended the stairs, carrying a gold tray bearing two jeweled golden goblets. Immediately behind her was Callitris, also in white. And then Draecana, her bony hand delicately on the strong arm of Lord John Roxton, both still in scarlet.

Veronica took her hand, and Marguerite knew that on the other side of Veronica, Malone was taking hers, and Challenger Malone's, while Summerlee took Marguerite's other hand. A quick glance revealed they were seeing the hag. Then the hands were released. They did not want Dracaena to guess what they saw.

Taking a deep breath, Marguerite focused her gaze and her mind on the tall man. She tried to remember the first time she had ever seen him, the first time they had spoke to each other. She remembered how they had kissed in the strange village known as Paradise and how close they had come to making love there. She tried to think of when she first felt the attraction she had for John Roxton, and realized there had been no defining moment. She could remember only the need to resist that attraction, to cling to her own soul.

_I love you, John. I love you, John._ Over and over, among and above her other thoughts, her mind repeated those words. The first real reaction she noticed did not come from Roxton, but from Dracaena, who cast a malevolent glance in her direction. Did she also frown as though being required to focus her mind more strongly on the man? _I love you, John. I love you, John._

Dracaena led him to the altar, and they stepped up onto the stone. Agathis remained on the ground, holding the tray. The moon rose higher, shedding silver light over the scene. Dracaena faced Roxton, but she did not touch him. Marguerite remembered the description Dracaena had given of the ceremony–they would repeat vows, drink wine, and _then_ join hands. Could it be she could not touch him now, until the rites were in the final stage?

_John! John! Look at me! I love you!_

Ned Malone stepped out of the throng. "Your highness! Would you be kind enough to hold that pose so that I may sketch it? I know my words can't do you justice–well, neither will my art–but perhaps between the two, I can create an adequate description of this magnificent moment. You don't mind do you?" He was moving around, lifting his journal toward the light, making a few marks, looking at the scene, shifting his position.

"Do you mind explaining what is going to happen next, your majesty?" Summerlee inquired, mildly, stepping closer to the alter and leaning down to inspect the flowers. "My, I don't believe I know this species. It resembles a peony–no, more like a dahlia, I believe. Could it be some sort of hybrid? Do you know it's name? I'm sure Ned will want the accurate name in his story."

Their behavior certainly caught the queen by surprise. She stared at the pair for a long moment before speaking. "Professor, Mr. Malone, if you will be patient, I'll answer all your questions once the ceremony is complete."

"But then it'll be too late to do the sketch!" Malone protested. He had worked his way around the other side now, near where Lilium and her family waited. "It'll only take a moment."

Dracaena turned her head toward Malone. Marguerite gazed at Roxton, and repeated her mantra, over and over. His eyes flickered in her direction. But it was only for an instant, as the queen brought her attention back. "We must proceed with the ceremony!" Her voice was strident. "It must be completed before the moon rises any further."

Challenger caught his breath and touched Veronica's arm, calling her attention to the edge of the altar. She gripped his hand momentarily to let him know she was seeing it as well, the vague green glow among the flowers.

"Malone!" She cried, moving out to stand opposite him, with the altar and the queen and her benedict between them. "You must stop annoying Queen Dracaena!"

"Annoying! I'm not annoying her!" Malone glared back. "I'm trying to record this for posterity. The queen knows that, and wishes it. Isn't that so, your highness?"

"But the flowers!" Summerlee's voice was an anxious wail. "I must know the identity of the flowers. Malone, you need to record their names. It's of great scientific importance." He had moved to the narrow end of the altar, behind Dracaena's back.

"Now listen all of you!" Challenger's voice thundered, and he stepped right up onto the stone behind Dracaena. "I am ashamed of you. What will Queen Dracaena and her people think of us?"

Dracaena turned her back on Roxton, her face showing her anger and distress as she faced Summerlee and Challenger. And Marguerite heard a murmur in the spectators. But worse, the green glow was increasing. She knew the time was now.

"You must remove yourselves!" Dracaena screeched. "Callitris!"

Marguerite stepped up onto the altar, over the flowers and the green glow, and to Roxton's side. She grasped his hand, and reached inside her blouse to retrieve the garland, her eyes on his face. Plainly he was not entirely free yet. He stared at her, looked down at their clasped hands, and tried to pull away.

"John," she whispered. "Don't. I love you."

Dracaena whirled. "You fool! You can't stop me! He's mine!"

"I can stop you," Marguerite replied with more firmness than she felt. "I love him. He loves me. That's more powerful than any spell you can ever cast!" She lifted the wreath.

Dracaena stepped back, fear flashing on her face, then vanishing. "You may love him! He may love you! But you'll never have him!" She lifted her hands over her head. "Arise! Arise! Form the magic circle and take the fools into the abyss of nothingness. And you, Marguerite, you will remain behind and grieve for all your days!"

"Marguerite!" Veronica's voice pierced the sudden cacophony of sound. "Give it to me!"

The shrieks were coming from the perimeter of the altar, where the glow was turning into a green fire, and taking shape. Shouts and cries of horror emanated from the citizens of Livornia as they saw what was occurring. Marguerite realized that at this point, she, Roxton and Challenger were inside the circle of green. Then suddenly Veronica was there, too.

Veronica yanked the garland from Marguerite's hand, and leapt toward Dracaena. But the queen was swift and agile, despite her age, and she ducked away–to be seized by strong hands. Roxton had pulled his own free from Marguerite's.

"Pharus! Pharus!" Dracaena cried, staring at his clear eyes and confused expression. "Come back to me! You are mine."

He wavered, and Marguerite saw his grip on Veronica start to loosen. The green flames were now in the form of wavering, snakelike creatures, growing larger and brighter by the moment. Marguerite began to sing. The sound, the words simply appeared from her throat. She saw Dracaena's eyes widen to stare at her, and beyond Dracaena, next to Veronica, another new shape emerged. It was more a shadow than a shape–a cowled figure. Marguerite could not see the face, but she sensed the smile; she also seemed to hear a voice calling her name, only it was not "Marguerite," but "Morgan." Somehow the shape was singing along with her, inside her head, within her soul. The green glow began to waver and dim. Dracaena stared in the direction of the figure, and seemed frozen, unable to move for a moment.

Roxton's hands dropped away and Veronica lifted the wreath to plant it securely upon on Dracaena's head. It settled over her brow–and seemed to tighten. The shriek that emanated from the woman was hideous. She sank to her knees, her hands clawing at the leaves and stems that circled her brow, and seemed to be now part of her skin.

The next moments were pure confusion. Titus led the charge to the altar to seize Dracaena, and she was dragged to the prison building. Others were shouting with joyous triumph, celebrating their release. The green creatures vanished completely–and so did the shadowy cowled one. Released from the strain, Marguerite staggered, and was caught by strong arms that held her close.

"My God," John Roxton murmured in her ear, gazing around at the riotous scene. "What the hell is going on? Where are we?"

Challenger clapped a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, we have quite a tale to relate to you."

A shriek caught everyone's attention, and they turned to watch Rosea racing toward a small group of very weary-appearing people who were emerging from the darkness at the edge of the plaza. She threw her arms around a young man with coppery hair, who embraced her warmly. Then Alnus, Titus, and Lilium also joined the group, along with other people from the village.

"My lord!" Summerlee, murmured. "I do believe that defeating Dracaena has released the persons she dispatched to the netherworld!"

The ceremony of transformation was performed that night after all. Lilium pointed out that the next blue moon would not be occurring for many mortal years hence, so Micah and Rosea quickly chose to take advantage of tonight's phenomenon. Veronica was a little surprised that she became rather emotional while watching the rite, for she was not the sentimental sort. Yet the pure love and happiness in the faces of the two participants was impossible to miss. When Malone put his arm around her shoulders, Veronica did not pull away.

"Quite a different place without Dracaena's influence," Challenger commented as they watched the inhabitants celebrate with laughter, song, and dancing.

"What will they do with her?" Roxton inquired. He had received a brief description of the events of the last couple of days, and though he found them pretty unbelievable, no other explanation seemed at hand.

"Lilium said she will be left behind," Malone responded. "I asked her what she meant, but she wouldn't explain. Since Dracaena is already aged by mortal standards, it is not likely she'll last much longer."

Marguerite glanced at Veronica, and realized the younger woman was having the same thoughts. They could not find it in their hearts to have any sympathy for Dracaena. She had caused a great deal of misery for the people of this village, and had nearly essentially murdered Roxton to satisfy her own lust. It would have been different if Lord Roxton had been entering the union and transformation willingly, like Micah.

John Roxton looked at Marguerite, but as she had almost from the time they stepped off the altar in each other's arms, she avoided his eyes. She had pushed away from him and allowed the others to offer the explanation for their presence in this strange place and what was occurring and had occurred.

He felt as though he had been asleep for days, with bits and pieces of remembered dreams–a beautiful woman, an ugly, incredibly old woman, vague memories of seeing his friends, but as though peering at them through misty clouds. Roxton knew how much he owed his companions. Virtually his life, as he knew it.

Something else was on the edge of his memory, at the periphery of the dreams. He had held Marguerite several times during their acquaintance, had kissed her. Yet there was something more than that, and perhaps it was just part of the hallucination caused by the evil faery's spell. It was almost as though he could taste the salty sweetness of her skin, feel the silkiness of it against his own body, her shining mass of hair entangled in his fingers

"Marguerite," Malone said, and Roxton experienced gratitude for the interruption, so that no one would look at him for the moment. The rush of desire the thoughts had created might be all too evident if anyone checked his body closely.

Marguerite turned to the young journalist. "What?"

"That song you were singing–can you repeat it?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. It's completely gone. Why?" Had she really seen a man in a cowl, heard him singing, and offering her strength and encouragement? Why would he have addressed her as "Morgan"?

"It just–it sounded familiar. I can't say why. As though–I don't know. Maybe as if I heard it in a dream somewhere." He looked around at the others, as if for confirmation.

Challenger shook his head. "It sounded like some sort of chant, but not one I've ever heard."

"Dracaena certainly didn't like it," Veronica smiled. "Did you notice how she kept looking over her shoulder?"

"She saw the ghost" Marguerite began, then wished she had not spoken.

"The man in the hood?" Roxton blurted out. He had not meant to bring that up, especially after the figure had faded from his view as quickly as it appeared. At least his emotions–and body–were under control now as the others turned to him.

"You saw him?" Marguerite asked, eyes wide.

He had to nod. "Just for an instant. He was–it's hard to explain." Blessing them? Blessing who? It had been just a momentary sensation.

Lilium came up then, followed by her Titus, Gordus, and Violeta. The latter two wanted to express their thanks for the assistance the mortals had given them. Summerlee and Challenger, of course, questioned the pair about their time in the "nothingness," but they could tell him little.

"It was there, yet not there," Gordus said with an apologetic smile. "There was no time, yet there was an eternity."

Titus had his arm around his daughter-in-law's shoulder. "We had no idea of ever seeing our loved ones again, not even that destroying Dracaena would release them. This has been the happiest of nights."

The feather-soft hand of Lilium slipped into Marguerite's and quietly, for only the mortal woman to hear, she spoke. "Love is everything, my dear. You must not forget that, when you return to your world. You can love and give your soul freely, for you will receive love and another's soul in return. Together you will be whole."

****

Lord John Roxton sat on the rock to pull off his boots, then quickly shed the remainder of his clothing. In a sense, this was foolish, for it was an unwritten rule that no one ventured out alone, even to the pool they used for swimming and bathing. Generally, one of the other men would have accompanied him, just as Veronica and Marguerite would come together, with one remaining on the bank and keeping watch.

He had walked around a bit, though, and so far as he could ascertain, no sort of predator, animal or otherwise, was within a fair distance of the pool, let along the tree house. And he had desperately needed some solitude.

He was not by nature a solitary man, not in the sense that he sought to be alone. He had spent many days and nights by himself on various expeditions, just as he had also spent them in the company of other companions. This day, though, three days after their return from the strange village known as Livornia, he had determined he needed to get away.

They had told him the story, each relating a portion as they knew it, to complete the whole. That is, all except Marguerite. She had not even added a description of the night she attempted to free him by entering the palace, allowing Malone to give a brief sketch of how Dracaena had foiled that attempt by entering the room and threatening Roxton with oblivion if Marguerite did not leave. Lord Roxton was perceptive enough to realize that even Malone had not told all he knew.

Marguerite had continued to avoid him–very much like the time they had returned from that cursed settlement where the people retained their youth by consuming fruit from a human-fed tree. At the tree house, finally, he had tried to explain to her why he felt compelled to leave her that night when she was offering herself to him, that he had a duty to find and assist Malone if needed. Marguerite's rebuff that evening still gnawed at his gut when he thought on it too much–perhaps because he had not had the courage to pursue her and force her to understand. Lord Roxton was a man of courage, but of all things he feared, alienating and losing all chance to win Marguerite Krux was right at the top.

His lean body gleaming in the sun, Roxton poised for a second at the edge of the deep, clear pool, and then knifed into the water, the coldness driving the breath from his lungs for a moment as his fingers touched the bottom and pushed. He remained submerged for a long moment, eyes open and piercing the murky depths, aware of the brightness above him. When his lungs finally screamed for oxygen, his powerful stroke took him up into the air and sunshine.

"You broke all the rules, my lord," the familiar voice said behind him, for he had come up with his back to the bank. "Suppose I had been a T. rex?"

He whirled around. Marguerite stood there, her arms folded across her chest. She had one boot planted on the pile of his clothing. He gazed at her a long moment, unsure of the smile on her lovely face. Was she mocking him? Or

Roxton stroked toward the bank. "Prettiest T. rex I've seen on the plateau."

"Thank you, milord," she replied, and sat down on the same rock that he had occupied moments before. He knew his mouth dropped open as she tugged on her boots.

"Marguerite, what are you doing?"

"I remember once you telling me that a woman should not swim alone." She stood up, leaving her holster and belt on the rock, and unfastened the skirt.

"I think what I said," he replied slowly, still unsure of what to make of her behavior, "was that a beautiful' woman should not swim alone. But I don't think there are any crocodiles–or caimans–in this pool."

"Looks to me that a very dangerous beast occupies the pool at the moment," she responded, peeling off her blouse.

John Roxton gripped a half submerged root at the bank of the pond, unable to remove his gaze as she unfastened the camisole type garment she always wore and let it fall, baring the milky skin of her magnificent breasts. Then she stepped out of the panties, and dove into the pool almost before he had a chance to revel in the lightness and darkness of her.

As he had, she went to the bottom, then came up, right in front of him, grasping his arms for support, and his hands caught her waist. "Marguerite, do you know what you're doing?"

"I hope so," she murmured, and her hands slipped up behind his neck, lifting herself to him.

****

"We've done this before," Lord John Roxton said softly into the mass of ebony hair that his face was buried in. He almost wished he hadn't spoken as she lifted her head from his shoulder and turned her face toward him, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?"

He lifted himself up on an elbow, used his free hand to touch the softness of her cheek. "I don't know what I mean. It's just that–all the while, I knew what it was–I mean–damn it, Marguerite! Did we?"

She smiled, catching his hand in hers and bringing it to her mouth to kiss his palm. "I had a feeling she couldn't erase it all."

"Dracaena?"

"Yes. The night I came to the palace to try to free you, I–I found it necessary to kiss you."

He cocked one brow. "Out of duty."

"Of course, milord." She gnawed gently on the knuckles of his fingers for a moment. "However, when you awakened–well, I have no idea what you thought was happening, but it was too much for the both of us."

Remembering the fiery passion that had consumed them both over the last couple of hours, he could well imagine. "And Dracaena then erased it?"

"She said that even if you survived as a mortal, you would never remember." Her gray eyes probed his for a long moment. 

"But I think she couldn't erase the, the" He couldn't think of the word.

"The essence," she whispered, sliding into his arms. The grass was soft, the sun was warm. Neither thought then of the strange village that had vanished moments after they were escorted to its perimeter by a grateful and happy population. After they had walked a quarter mile or so, Veronica's curiosity got the better of her, and she ran back. Upon returning, she reported that all the cottages and other buildings were gone, with no trace of their existence. She grimly reported hearing the feeding frenzy of raptors nearby.

Lord John Roxton and Marguerite Krux were not thinking of the village or Dracaena's fate. Their minds were consumed with the love that fueled their passion. John Roxton had no idea why his lady had chosen to come to him this afternoon, nor did he care. She was here, she was his, he was hers. That was all that mattered..

Marguerite groaned, then sighed with the ecstasy that consumed her soul, and breathed a silent prayer of gratitude to the strange and beautiful creature known as Lilium. That woman's words had been in her thoughts, day and night, since their return home. She had only sought the right moment to follow the faery queen's advice.

Lost in their love, neither noticed the soft, there-but-not-there shadows that shimmered along the edge of the clearing, somehow not quite touching the ground. They didn't hear the joyous laughter, which really sounded more like the breeze sloughing through the trees, accompanied by the twitter of several songbirds. They didn't hear Lilium's sigh of satisfaction, nor her soft words.

"Now you are truly a chosen one, my dear. Whatever happens in the future, you will never be alone."

****

At the tree house, Veronica warned her companions to stay away from the swimming pond for a while, for she had seen Roxton stride in that direction, followed minutes later by Marguerite. She saw that Summerlee instantly comprehended, for his eyes twinkled. Challenger grumped and growled something that seemed to say he had no intention of going to the pond anyway, so what was the difference. Malone was baffled for only a little while, and when comprehension came, he grinned at Veronica in such a manner as to cause her face to warm to a rosy hue.


End file.
